


The Louvre

by princessoftheworlds



Series: It's not a crime to love what you cannot explain [16]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Caroline Forbes. Master thief. Assassin. Spy. But before she was wanted by nearly every government in the world, Caroline was part of an elite FBI team, the Originals. Hunting rogue criminals around the world, the Originals were led by Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson, her lover, and consisted of his siblings and her best friend Stefan Salvatore. But, tragedy struck the team, a betrayal orchestrated from inside the FBI, and, beliefs destroyed, Caroline turned to the wrong side of the law. But, did everyone perish in the blast that killed her team? Or, is Klaus still alive, biding his time for revenge?





	The Louvre

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this graphic](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/post/164296626736/happy-birthday-accidental-rambler-caroline).

She’s standing on the rooftop of the Louvre, surveying and testing the security for her next score, when there’s the slightest scuff of a boot against stone behind her.

It could have been anything, the brush of a pigeon’s wings against the building or a noise that drifts up from the Parisian cityscape, but Vicki’s senses, honed by two years on the run from nearly every major federal government in the world, know better. She remains poised on her toes, body stiff in its fight-or-flight response, prepared to disable her visitor in a mere matter of seconds.

Then she hears the tell-tale click of a gun as a bullet is pushed into its chamber and knows that she has no choice.

“I’d applaud you, whoever you are, for finding me,” Vicki says nonchalantly, “but you must be a fucking idiot if you think that taking me in will go easy.”

“Caroline Elizabeth Forbes,” her visitor replies in a light, feminine voice. “I never imagined meeting you here of all places.”

Vicki visibly stiffens, the unpleasant chill of disbelief spreading through her veins, because – _who could have connected master thief and assassin Victoria Donovan with FBI Special Agent Caroline Forbes, graduated top of her class at Quantico, presumed dead in 2014_.

“Who are you” _Caroline_ asks coolly, doing nothing to disguise the steel-edged threat in her tone, “and how did you find me?”

“I’m holstering my gun now,” the woman responds, her words followed by a scrape of metal and fabric. “Then you can turn around, and we can have a nice face-to-face chat about what’s going to happen now.”

“And if I don’t?” Caroline asks tensely.

The woman laughs as if Caroline told her a hilarious joke. “Look, I honestly mean you no harm. The gun was just a way to get your attention. If you care to leave, you can.”

Maybe something in the woman’s voice sounds genuine, or maybe Caroline is _just tired_ of running all the time, but she slowly turns around, careful of her footing on the slanted roof. “Who are you, and how did you find me?” she repeats a bit more gently.

The woman is shorter than Caroline, standing a little over five feet tall, but holds herself in a way that indicates power and authority. She is dark-skinned with a heart-shaped face, expressive jade eyes, and dark hair cut in a blunt attractive bob that makes her features seem more angular. She could pass for a civilian with her jeans, boots and sweater to protect her from Paris’s autumn chill, if not for the unmistakable gun holstered at her left hip. “My name is Bonnie Bennett,” the woman says smiling, “and I believe we have a mutual friend.”

“Who?” Caroline demands, still a little guarded.

“He goes by Lorenzo nowadays but still thinks it to be a ridiculous name.”  

“ _Enzo_ ,” she breathes softly in relief.

The last time she had seen Lorenzo St. John, she had snuck into the penthouse he was staying in in Sa᷉o Paulo last summer. They’d stayed up all night drinking a bottle of $4,000 wine Caroline had filched from a local politician’s house. _I’m going to be looking after you, Forbes_ , Enzo had promised her when she was sneaking out the window.

“Yes,” Bennett says in confirmation. “When I told him I found you, he insisted I make contact.”

“Why?” Caroline asks, eyes narrowing with bewilderment.

“Why?” Bennett repeats with confusion. “Well, I imagine Enzo’s worried about you, that’s why.”

“No.” Caroline shakes her head. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I work for an independent organization. Enzo’s one of our contractors. We’ve been looking to recruit you since your Quantico graduation,” Bennett admits. “Admittedly, I lost you after the failed mission in Bavaria in 2014 until—”

“I showed up in Mystic Falls six months later,” Caroline surmises. She rakes a hand through her hair, wrenching some of it from its ponytail. “God, I _knew_ that visit was a mistake. Put me back on the radar.”

Christmas 2014, the first time she had visited her mother’s grave in years since Elizabeth Forbes had died just after Caroline’s high school graduation. _Caroline’s moment of weakness_.

Bennett frowns at her. “Only for people who were looking. And I definitely was.”

Sighing, Caroline fixes Bennett with a steady stare. “Now what?”

Bennett shrugs. “I think you’ll come into my organization in your own time but, first, it’s time to prove my word. Enzo and I only want what’s best for you, and right now, what we want is to keep you alive.”

Now, Caroline laughs roughly. “From who? No one’s been looking for me but you.”

“Word on the street is,” Bennett begins quietly, “that’s someone’s out for your blood. Got some past grudge.”

“Who?” Caroline cocks her head to the side, listening intently.

“Dunno, but I’d be careful. Lay low for a while and if you ever want to come in, you know where to find Enzo,” Bennett tells her.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Caroline replies cautiously. She takes a step back, knowing that Bennett’s eyes are on her, and then another until she reaches the edge of the roof. “You know, Mexico sounds good this time of year,” she says casually, “if you want to find me again.” Then, with enviable grace, Caroline backflips off the roof and disappears.

Bennett laughs warmly. “I’m not falling for that,” she calls after Caroline.

* * *

 

Months later Caroline’s in Spain, posing as the date for a German diplomat for a summer gala.

Bennett’s offer has hovered in the back of her mind every day since their encounter, but Caroline is not one to fall prey for something that seems so tantalizing. There must be some catch, some condition, some demand from her that will damn her.

She has spent three years living half a life, living on the meager thrills of successful jobs and scores pulled off, tied to nothing and no one, the sickly weight of the guilt and sorrow always weighing her down.

Murderers don’t get off that easily, not when they’re living the price for slaughtering their family.

But she’s here for a job, an offer that floated through her underground channels, $100,000 for the diplomat’s head, so she ducks into the bathroom and readjusts the knife strapped to her inner thigh.

The gown she is wearing is eye-catching red and bold, a scrap of silk that covers her breasts and upper torso but has strategically-placed cutouts, high leg slits, and fragile strings that criss cross across her back to hold the gown together.

She’s drawing a whole lotta stares from creepy men, and she rather gouge them out with the knifes scattered across her body than smile mysteriously and simper as she must until she can finally lure the diplomat into an unguarded corner and slit his throat.

Hell, maybe she’ll hack off his head, work off this pent-up aggression.

She has spent long enough in the bathroom for it to begin to seem suspicious, so Caroline touches up her lipstick, fluffs her hair out, and click-clacks her way outside in strappy black heels.

“ _Angelique_ ,” the diplomat calls as he spots her, rattling off in rapid-fire German. “ _Come meet Sr. Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador._

“ _Sr. Mendoza, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your country is gorgeous_ ,” Caroline says politely, surprising both the ambassador and diplomat by responding in fluent Spanish.

“ _Thank you, Ms—_?” the ambassador asks.

“ _Durand. Ms. Angelique Durand_ ,” Caroline supplies with a brilliant smile.

“ _French?_ ” the ambassador questions, and Caroline nods. “ _Your name is as beautiful as you are_ ,” the ambassador continues in accented French.

Caroline giggles in response, but she actually wants to knee the infuriating man in the balls.

Her multilingual tongue and talent for theatre (Caroline had starred in every single play and musical that Mystic Falls High had ever done during her high school career) meant Caroline was a prime candidate in the FBI for undercover work, but Caroline is older, more jaded and getting slightly too impatient.

The diplomat proceeds to ask her to dance, and she gives him an embarrassed smile before allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

“ _You know many languages_ , _dear Angelique_ ,” the diplomat says in French. “ _Have you travelled the world much_?”

Caroline releases a fluttery laugh. “ _Not much. My native France, Germany, and now Spain. I have always wanted to go to America, but time never permitted_.”

“ _Of course,_ ” the diplomat says. “ _You should travel more when you can_. _But only with a male companion. The world is not safe for a beautiful girl like you_.”

“ _Maybe you can show me?_ ” she asks, batting her eyelashes. She’s sure she’s overdoing it, but the diplomat only laughs, pleased.

She’ll use her sharpest, slimmest knife to stab him a few times before she saws his head off.

He spins her before dipping her dramatically to the music, and, as they rejoin hands, she fights off the urge to stab his Italian-loafered foot with the edge of her heel.

When the music trills, he spins her again, and, as she returns to face the diplomat, her eyes catch a familiar face.

Stormy eyes. Dirty blond hair she had once carded her hands through. The jawline she had adored covered in stubble. Lips often turned up in a dirty smirk now carved into a wolfish smile. A dangerous expression for a dangerous man, power and the intent to hunt wrapped in a lean but muscled body and expensive tuxedo.

 _It’s not possible_.

The blood drains from Caroline’s body, and she stumbles, nearly falling flat on her face, but the diplomat catches, holds her steady, but she doesn’t notice. Her heart is pounding like a drum, the beat echoing in her ears. Every bone is her body is frozen in place as a low buzz begins in the back of her mind.

 _It’s not possible. Klaus is dead_.

She watched him die. She killed him after all.

She had sent them all into the building in Bavaria, sent everyone she had ever loved. Sweet-hearted Rebekah. Mischievous Kol. Loyal Stefan. Clever Freya. Stubborn Finn. Even haughty Elijah. She had allowed them to continue the mission, even when she had her suspicions. When the building went up in flames, she couldn’t stop him from running inside to rescue his beloved Elijah.

And then the building exploded.

Caroline was the only survivor of the FBI’s disastrous Bavaria mission; that’s what she had always thought and lived by.

 _Was it possible that Klaus had survived somehow_?

But Caroline is a former high-ranking FBI agent, a thief, an assassin, a wanted criminal, hunted by Interpol, the FBI, the CIA, MI6, and other powerful agencies; she’s here in Spain, at this gala, for a reason.

And, right now, that reason is gently stroking her bare upper arms, his hands inching dangerously close to the razor-sharp wire she’s wearing around her neck like a necklace. She forcibly returns her attention to the diplomat.

“ _Are you hurt_?” he asks.

“ _No, I am fine. Thank you_ ,” she replies with false gratitude and watches the diplomat preen.

They continue to dance, and Caroline searches for a glimpse of Klaus but finds no one,

She feels uneasy; something is off, and it is not the three-years late reappearance of her ex-boyfriend when she thought him dead.

She wants to get out of here, so she prompts the diplomat. “ _Come, let us leave_. _I am tired. We can enjoy ourselves in your hotel room_.” Caroline stares at him with barely-masked lust in her eyes, turning her scarlet lips up in an attractive pout.

Still, the diplomat doesn’t budge. “ _Maybe fresh air will wake you up_.” In what Caroline deems a terrible move but cannot prevent without acting too suspiciously, he leads her out onto the terrace.

Caroline shivers in the frigid evening air.

“ _Is this not pleasant?_ ” the diplomat asks.

“ _I am incredibly cold_ ,” Caroline answers.

The diplomat appears disappointed. “ _Come then. Let’s return inside_.” He turns around, facing indoors.

At that exact moment, a bullet strikes the back of his head, and it explodes in a spray of blood and brain matter.

Any closer and it would have struck Caroline.

Someone screams shrilly, and Caroline whirls just in time to watch a figure disappear from the opposing rooftop, a man clutching a sniper rifle.

God, she should have seen it coming, but three years had been enough for her to forget and underestimate Niklaus Mikaelson. She had made the mistake when they had first become partners, and it had led to their target taking a successful shot at her. She had learned her lesson then as she is relearning it now.

“ _Phone the police_!” a young man shouts as he desperately searches for a pulse on the diplomat’s body.

There is an annoying, artificial chirping sound by Caroline’s foot, and she glances down to find that she is stepping on the diplomat’s phone; it must have slipped from his pocket when he fell forward.

It chirps again, and she frowns, reaching down to pick it up. She rubs some droplets of blood off the screen, leaving behind a slight smudge, and unlocks it using the override code she had memorized.

 _Payback time, sweetheart_.

Klaus used to murmur _sweetheart_ into her ear as he fucked her. He called her sweetheart when they attended Freya and Keelin’s wedding, and when he mentioned that the next wedding they attended would be their own.

Caroline laughs roughly.

_Oh, how the tables have turned._

She grasps the cell phone even tighter as she begins to dial a familiar number, letting it ring until a familiar Brit picks up.

“Enzo, I need to talk to Bonnie Bennett. She was right. There is a price on my head.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/).


End file.
